Puppy Love
by SoftGray
Summary: Dog might be man's best friend, but young Sherlock isn't too happy at the prospect of a new companion. But when his parent's insistence, his sharp tongue and a little bit of fate get him in a lot of trouble, his savior is unexpectedly and oddly, totally welcome. One-shot.


**Puppy Love**

by SoftGray

 _"ugly long haired, lop-eared creature, half spaniel and half lurcher, brown and white in colour, with a very clumsy waddling gait." - The Sign of Four_

* * *

"I don't want a puppy", Sherlock whinged, stamping his feet and shooting the offending animal a withering glare. The puppy sat on a square of cardboard by the door, right where Mr. Holmes had placed him upon bringing him into the house.

"Well Sherlock, I can hardly go to Eton and fetch your brother back can I? Your mum and I thought that a dog would be a perfect companion for all your escapades. Everyone needs a partner in crime, you know." His father ruffled Sherlock's hair and went into the kitchen leaving Sherlock alone with the dog. Mycroft, freshly enrolled in public school, was horrid and Sherlock was appalled that his parents thought he needed replacing in Sherlock's life.

Sherlock frowned and sat on the floor, wellies digging into his calves, in order to take a good look at the dog. It was definitely a puppy, all diminutive and floppy eared. A soft whitey reddish-brown coat covered his entire body and Sherlock wrinkled his nose at the idea of how much a dog like that would shed. He peered closer and in doing so received a face full of puppy drool.

"Yuck." Sherlock wiped his face on his sleeve and pulled a face like he'd just smelled rotten fish. The dog meanwhile, seemed to be pleased with his slobbery handiwork and barked once, a short sharp bark that was accompanied with rapid thuds of his tail on the hardwood floor. He looked happy to be there and as far as Sherlock was concerned nobody should be happy about being in such close proximity to his parents.

"That's it", Sherlock said, standing and prying the cardboard out from under the puppy, "You need to leave."

The door swung open and Sherlock watched as the small dog approached it hesitantly at first, and when he realized it led to a garden full of places to dig and scratch and pee, bounded out the door straight into the hydrangeas Sherlock's mum kept by the house.

Satisfied with the forthcoming damage to the unsightly flowers his mum tended to, and that the dog would find his way off the property by himself, Sherlock closed the door, locked it and proceeded immediately to the mudroom to rid his hands of the canine stench.

* * *

"How's the dog care coming?" His mother asked over dinner. Sherlock hadn't touched his potatoes all evening and was instead making small pyramids with his peas on his plate. He shrugged.

"I let him out a while ago so he wouldn't mess up the house." His father grinned, probably happy that he wouldn't have to pester Sherlock as to why the dog needed to go out at regular intervals.

"And where is the little scamp now? Curled up on the rug by the fire no doubt?" Another shrug from Sherlock. There was no point in lying. "Well I didn't let him back in. I don't want a dog." A glass met the table so hard that the peas pyramids scattered.

"You simply left the dog out there? In the raw cold? Sherlock!" His mother cried, scandalized and leapt from the table to rummage about in the pantry. She emerged briefly, pushing a torch into Sherlock's hands.

"What were you thinking? It's not as if we leave you out in the cold without your supper no matter how many times you needle us!" Sherlock looked up at his parents to gauge how much trouble he would get into if he just left the torch at the table and headed upstairs to bed. Lots, right.

"If I find him and bring him back, can we give him to the kennel tomorrow? Or Suzy Ambers down the road has always wanted a dog, I heard her wailing to her mum the other day-" But his parents in their grown up manner had pretended not to hear him: Mum had whisked all the untouched food off the table and Dad stood by the open door with a stern expression on his face.

Seeing no other option, Sherlock begrudgingly pulled on his mac and wellies again before setting off into the blisteringly cold rain.

* * *

The ivy at the end of the lane had done a fine job in wrapping itself around Sherlock's ankles and tripping him, resulting in a face full of mud. Ridiculous puppy, he thought as he got up and tried in vain to brush the dirt from his clothes. There was no point in getting his nice navy blue shirt all mussed up for some stupid canine.

A flash of lighting illuminated the road ahead and allowed Sherlock to see the two figures standing facing him a ways down the path. They looked more like goblins than fifth years with the eerie shadows cast upon their faces and the sneers on their mouths. Sherlock did not feel like engaging with them.

"Look! Timmy, it's that weirdo Holmes. Wonder what he's doing out here, wet and cold." The large boy drawled and smacked his lips as he talked and Sherlock could smell the lamb chops (with mint sauce) on his breath. He did not bother pointing out that the other two boys were also wet and cold.

"Ay, Jude, maybe we should rough him up a bit and remind him where his place is." The boy named Jude barked a short, sharp laugh and for a moment Sherlock wished it was the puppy barking in front of him and not these imbeciles. What was it with prepubescent boys and unnecessary displays of brutality? Sherlock had done nothing to them, but their aggressive attitude had sparked his ire.

"Jude, right? Does your Mum know you take fivers from her purse every week to buy sweets and comics? Do you feel good when she blames it on the kitchen girl?" Sherlock hissed at the boy and even in the poor lighting he could see Jude pale in fear. Alright, so maybe he had a guess about the sweets and comics, but honestly, what else would a ten year old boy want? Jude was boring. The other boy on the other hand...

"Oh and Tommy, I'm sorry your Da lost his job. Your sisters hand-me-downs can't be comfortable." Sherlock looked pointedly towards Timmy's lace edged socks, mismatched, peeking out from his too small shoes.

"My name's Timmy, you twat." Timmy swung his fist at Sherlock's jaw and for once Sherlock wished that his body was as fast as his brain. There was a crack that sounded like the earlier lighting, and Sherlock found himself planted in the mud again. He heard cruel laughter coming from above him and Sherlock blinked rapidly to keep the tears in check.

None of the three boys heard the bundle of energy approaching fast from behind Sherlock until a short sharp bark finally clued them in. He whipped his head around to see a matted blur of brown and white fur, moving so fast it was a reddish in colour, catapult towards the larger boy Jude and land a heavy paw on his shoulder. Sherlock was glad his assailants were a pair of ten year old boys and not anything else, otherwise the poor puppy would have been batted away easily.

But to Jude and Tommy, this yapping, snarling, lop-eared terror was akin to the mythical creature under their beds. As the puppy began biting fiercely at their ankles, and pawing at their knees, the two boys howled in fear and tried to scream over the small dog and the thunder still rumbling in the air.

"Gerroff! Gerroff! I don't want rabies, you festering turdy pile of fur!" Jude was trying to get the dog underfoot and stomp it into submission. The puppy barked happily as it instead found Tommy's bare ankles to play with. And with that. the smaller boy had enough: he yelled and started sprinting back down the lane away from where Sherlock lay in the mud. Jude tried to stay and defeat the little terror so that he could go home with some scraps of dignity, but it was just then that the puppy let out a screeching woof and sunk his tiny teeth right above the wool covered ankle that was Jude's metaphorical Achilles heel. Jude let out cry that would have been more at home on a teething baby and set off after his friend. Sherlock allowed himself to slump back into the mud, glad the ordeal was over.

But there was still the matter of the puppy to attend to. And even though Sherlock's heart was small and shriveled (or so he told his parents), he could not find it to simply leave the dog and continue on his way home.

The dog, for his part, had ambled gleefully over to his pseudo-owner and started on the insurmountable task of cleaning Sherlock's face, lick by muddy lick. It was the push Sherlock needed to finally get out of the mud and stand on his wobbly legs. He looked at the puppy cheerfully gamboling in the muddy lane, seemingly oblivious to the downpour that was still going strong. If he was going to stay with Sherlock then Dog needed a name.

"Well, how about Dog?" Sherlock voiced the thought aloud to no one in particular and immediately the puppy-who-was-not-to-be-called-Dog stopped jumping around and a tiny growl could be heard in the back of his throat.

"What else? Toby? Gladstone?" But upon further consideration, Toby was a name of a boy that was rude to Sherlock when he was five and Gladstone didn't suit the shaggy mess now begging for a belly rub at Sherlock's feet. The dog's hair was matted around his face, resulting in a comical likeness to the facial hair his father sported that Sherlock loathed.

"Redbeard?" There was a short sharp bark that signaled the puppy's approval.

Sherlock grasped Redbeard tightly in his arms and headed back home, an uncharacteristic grin across his face. He hoped his mum would be okay with cleaning the mud from the pair of them for the next few days.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** One-shot. No plans to develop further :( Free kisses for those who can spot the pop culture reference. Just wanted to evoke some warm furry feelings! before I leave for home and curl up with my puppy :)


End file.
